


It Probably Won’t Get Easier (Just Easier to Hide)

by muttshrooms



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Captivity, Character Study, Disordered Eating, Juno and Nureyev’s less-than-happy childhoods, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe, Juno’s self destructive tendencies, Multi, Nureyev POV, Nureyev betrayal, Nureyev having an eating disorder if you squint, Post-Betrayal, Rita continuing to be the best and most fun character to write, Torture, Trapped in space, chronic illness Nureyev, not in the sexy way, nureyev getting handcuffed, poor communication, risk of oxygen deprivation, self destructive behavior, technically not canon how we doing heart of it all-ers, the blood pressure cuff of death (it makes sense I promise), the cosmic horror of space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muttshrooms/pseuds/muttshrooms
Summary: “To put it simply: our engine is dead in the water. Without our engine, we have no propulsion, no electricity, and no life support.I believe we have hit a pocket of dead space. For those of you that do not know, dead space is an area that, for some unknown reason, overloads and renders large electronic systems inert.We have a backup generator, and between the alcohol we currently have in our possession and the small amount of reserve fuel, if we keep our doors sealed and our electricity usage low, we have around 24 hours on the oxygen converter. While it is possible to drift out of a dead space zone, we do not know how long it will take, and thus therein lies our problem. We will have to get creative, or we will die.”~While dealing with the aftermath of Nureyev’s betrayal, the Carte Blanche’s engine system gives out. Some handle the chaos much better than others.Nureyev is worried about Juno.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83





	It Probably Won’t Get Easier (Just Easier to Hide)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello welcome to my cave. 
> 
> This fic was born of a desire to take a Nureyev betrayal arc and twist the tension up to ten! It’s kind of a character study about Juno and it’s kind of a character study about Nureyev. Overall it was incredibly fun and indulgent to write! 
> 
> Some warnings before we begin because there’s some rough stuff in here. 
> 
> Nureyev is kept in restraints for a lot of the fic and at one point dislocates his shoulders to get out of them. He is also kept in chains at one point. 
> 
> The torture tag is for the Blood Pressure Cuff of Death, a backup generator that runs by sucking energy out of people. It sucks, literally, and the feeling is described. To skip the descriptions, stop reading at  
> “It hurt  
> A lot” 
> 
> and begin reading at “...tryin’- ...hold…hold on.” 
> 
> Chronic Illness Nureyev is a big part of the motivations behind Nureyev’s betrayal. There is some mild discussion for feeling useless about the weakness his body has left him with. 
> 
> Also a huge warning for disordered eating! Juno begins to skip meals in a misguided attempt to take care of the characters around him. Nureyev notices because of his history with an eating disorder. Juno has a lot of self sacrificing moments throughout the fic in an incredibly unhealthy way and is eventually confronted about it. 
> 
> This is a big one, so I’m nervous that I’ve missed some sort of TW or haven’t adequately explained them, so if you see anything that you think I should add, please drop me a comment and I’ll address it ASAP.
> 
> Title is from Looking Like You Just Woke Up by the Front Bottoms, which is an incredibly Nureyev song in my opinion. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

They caught him red handed, in the end. Peter Nureyev, master thief, tucking himself into the ship’s lone escape pod with each of their stolen artifacts. Behind him, the pod’s autopilot flashed its coordinates: Epsilon, the smallest of Brahma’s 17 moons. 

Juno would say later that he had wanted to be caught. That he was too good to slip up like that. That he knew Juno was a light sleeper. That he knew the former detective wouldn’t be able to leave a mystery well enough alone when he woke up to see his partner sneaking out of their shared room, a duffle bag that Juno had never seen before tucked under his lithe arms. He was right on one account. Somewhere, deep,  _ deep _ down, Nureyev had hoped someone would show up just in time to save him from himself. 

He hadn’t expected for Juno to take one look at him before tucking a blaster bolt between his eyes. 

He awoke alone and cuffed to a chair. 

Bright light filtered in from overhead, making him wince as he tried to clear his head enough to parse his surroundings. He was in a small, circular room. Bare white walls surrounded him on either side, and he was faced forward toward a translucent panel. Biothane, by the look of it, though he would have to touch it to be sure. Clear and light, but incredibly strong. It would take some work, but given enough time he could likely saw through it with the plasma knife he had hidden in his…

He jolted with a start. It seemed that someone had changed him out of his clothing while he was unconscious. Judging by the poor fit, what he had been given as a replacement had originally belonged to someone else. Someone significantly larger than he was. Possibly Jet, but more likely…Juno. He forced down the pang that went through his chest at the mere thought of him. He had made his decision; there was no room to start feeling guilty now.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he would have to do next. With a poorly muffled, agonized cry of pain he slid his shoulders out of place, rolling them over his head. He sat there for a moment, panting. A younger, more sure version of him could perform this maneuver with practiced ease. He filed away that thought for a later version of himself (ideally one that wasn’t handcuffed to a chair) and slipped the handcuffs off his wrists. He popped his thumbs back into place absentmindedly, rubbing the soreness away as he looked for anything of use in the room around him. 

His lip curled with disgust only moments later as he began to realize that he was being held in what had to be the most secure room upon the entire Carte Blanche. The clear door panel was indeed biothane, and offered no obvious route of escape. The walls were barren and smooth, and the room’s only vent was a fist-sized hole near the ceiling. A few more minutes of agitated pacing would confirm what he feared: it would seem that he was indeed trapped, for the moment. 

So he sat back in the chair and waited. 

~

“Steel, your boyfriend broke out of his cuffs.” 

Juno resisted the urge to snap back at Vespa. She had been on edge ever since he had found him. They all had. So instead he said nothing, staring blankly at whatever stream Rita had put on to distract him while she curled up next to him like a fluffy pink cat. 

He wasn’t surprised at all that Nureyev had found a way out of the chair. After all, it had been, what, an hour since Rita had informed everyone that he had woken up? In all honesty, he was off his game if it had taken this long. Besides, the cuffs had been a formality. What they needed to focus on was keeping him locked in the brig until Buddy decided what to do with him. If he knew he could open his mouth without screaming, that’s what he’d tell her at least. 

“If you ask me, we should have put you in there too. I’m not going to let you two stab us in the back and run off into the sunset.” Juno gritted his teeth and tucked his head lower into the pile of blankets Rita had covered him with earlier. 

“Now Miss Vespa, that ain’t fair. Don’t you see how upset Mistah Steel is about all of this?” Rita protested. Juno felt her shift next to him, craning her head up to look at the green haired assassin. 

Vespa stalked into their field of vision, crossing her arms and staring with distrust brimming in her amber eyes. “I don’t buy this little act for a second, and you shouldn’t either.” 

“Then go to a different store, I’m not selling you anything,” he felt himself snap with a sense of detachment, like watching someone else say it in a stream. His voice was cracked when he spoke, a broken cup trying to hold onto as much water as it could. And he was tired. Dead tired. Tired of being blamed and tired of being a human punching bag. But most of all he was sick and tired of trusting people and watching everything go to shit. It must have been his specialty. A real modern day Midas, ruining everything he touched. 

Vespa looked like she was brewing up some kind of scathing response when the lights went out. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed several things in high definition. Vespa looked toward the ceiling, then immediately back at him, trying to gauge his reaction before showing her own. Rita squeaked in surprise next to him, grabbing a pillow and looking wildly around, which caused the tension in Vespa’s shoulders to ease ever-so-slightly. And finally, the ever-present humming of the Carte Blanch’s engine, a sound he had heard in the background nonstop for months now, was gone. For whatever reason, they were dead in the water. 

“What the hell?” 

“Why’d all the lights go out?! Are we being attacked by space pirates? Oh, wait, we’re the space pirates. Are we about to be double-crossed by our space pirate allies, like in  _ Pirates of the Carribean 37: Revenge of the Revenge of Davy Jones _ ?!” 

“Damn it, Steel, this better not have anything to do with you and Ransom. Hacker, are your comms still working?” The answer to that was obvious. The gentle blue glow coming from her screen was the only light source left in the room. She nodded, almost comically, pigtails on either side of her head bouncing wildly. “Pull up the camera, we need to make sure he’s not loose.” 

“You got it Miss Vespa!” Rita typed a few things into her screen, faster than Juno could keep up with, then frowned. “Uh, one problem. It looks like all the lights are out on the whole ship. It’s dark where Mistah Thief is too.” 

Vespa cursed quietly, leaning forward slightly like she was going to grab onto Juno, then thinking better of it. She was more careful around him since their first week on the ship, after seeing how Juno reacted to sudden movements sometimes. She could be kind like that, observant and courteous. 

“Get up, Steel, we’re going to knock out your boyfriend.” She could be a real pain in the ass too. 

“What?” He resisted the urge to get defensive immediately. “Why do I have to go?” 

“Because someone needs to keep an eye on you. I’m not going to let you sneak off and hurt Buddy.” She crossed her arms, continuing to stare daggers into him. Uncomfortable, but preferable to the actual knife she had buried in his stomach a few months prior. “And Rita’s going to be needed with the ship’s power being off. Rita, go find Buddy, ok? Me and Steel are going to take care of Ransom.” 

“I don’t want to-”

“Steel, give me a reason to put you in the brig, I’m begging.” 

Distantly, he felt Rita squeeze his hand three times, a small show of comfort that they had shared for years now. He didn’t need to turn his head to know the face she was giving him, determination brimming in those bright eyes of hers. The kind of look that made a lady feel cared about, like he had someone in his corner. He’d always have Rita, he knew that. And for some reason, knowing that suddenly made facing Nureyev seem a little easier. With a grunt he shifted onto his feet. 

“Alright, let’s track him down before he disappears.” 

~

He heard the footsteps approaching before he saw them, flashlights from their comms flooding the room as they approached his place of containment. Vespa and Juno. Perhaps not the faces he had expected, but right on time as per the lights mysteriously shutting off. His gaze settled on Vespa as he forced a smile onto it. He purposefully did not look at Juno. He did not feel as if he had been stabbed in the heart at the sight of him. At least, that’s what he hoped his smile said. 

“Hello Vespa. Are you here to illuminate me on the lighting mishap?” 

Her face soured as she stared at him, scrunching as though he were a bitter taste hidden in a sweet treat. She glanced over the room once, twice, then nodded sharply. “He’s good for now.” Obviously satisfied, she turned immediately and began to leave. Nureyev hung his head with a sigh, leaning forward to stretch the ache in his back, keeping his eyes on the pair of dress shoes that remained in front of him. He hesitated there for a long while, a jolt of dread going through him at the idea of meeting Juno’s gaze. They were locked in a silent standoff, each waiting to see who would break first. Nureyev didn’t stand a chance. 

He had once said that moral outrage was a good look on Juno, and unlike so many of his words, he had meant it. Juno was raw justice, standing for every cause he believed in. And when he found something to light that fire inside of him, his eyes glinted like burning coals and his brow crinkled in such a way that made it impossible to describe him in any way other than breathtaking. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to see on the detective’s face, mere inches apart and separated by miles. What he found struck him harder than any fist or angry word. Juno didn’t look outraged, or despairing, or even disappointed. 

He looked empty. 

Nureyev’s breath caught in his throat as they stared each other down. Juno’s face, his beautiful, expressive face. The one he wished to wake up to every day of his life, and praised every time that blessing was granted. Juno was looking at Nureyev as if he was truly seeing him for the first time and realizing that he was nothing. 

It took an active effort not to let the tears he could feel brewing make an appearance. The strain would likely be visible later, in the half moon bruises on his palms where his acrylics sunk deep, but it was all he could do to keep his composure. With a lip that did not tremble, he murmured the only word he could possibly manage at the moment, voice dredged with emotion too big for the body that held it. 

“Juno.” 

His lady turned tail and walked out the way he had come. 

A master thief’s greatest asset was his mind, of course. And Nureyev’s was as sharp as the knives that could be found on his person at any given moment. He was quick with his wit and quicker with his draw. His sense of timing was impeccable. 

Which is why he was painfully aware of the hours he was left alone there, in the dark. 

He was lightheaded when he heard the footsteps approaching, enough so that at first he wasn’t entirely sure if they were real or merely the pounding of his own skull. But as they came closer, he became more and more sure that they were. They were heavy, mechanical. They could only belong to one crewmember. He tried not to seem too desperate when the stony face of Jet Siquiliak appeared in the doorway and approached his cell, ducking slightly under the doorframe so as not to hit his head. 

He opened his mouth to break the silence, to say something witty and charming through the fog that had formed in his head, but Jet beat him to the punch. 

“Thief. You have two options. The first is to put yourself in these restraints we have procured and to follow me. The second is to die. I will give you a moment to make your decision.” 

“Restraints, hm? I’m sorry, Jet dearest, but I’m taken,” the words hurt before he finished saying them. It wasn’t true, after all. Not anymore. 

Jet didn’t so much as blink at the response. “I will slide the restraints through to you. I will walk you through putting them on, if you so wish. Otherwise, I will leave. And you will perish in two hours and forty seven minutes or so, depending on your physical and mental state.” He then proceeded to open a slot at the bottom of the door, barely tall enough to get a hand through, and slide some clump of fabric through to him.

He reached out cautiously to inspect it. After all, Jet was not the kind of person to make idle threats. If he said Nureyev would die if he remained in this room, it was something he truly believed. Besides, he needed to leave regardless. He would have a much better chance of finding a way off of the ship if he were not trapped in this damned box. So he picked up the clump of stiff, heavy fabric. It was some sort of shirt, clearly, but unlike any he had ever seen. The sleeves were stitched into the front of the shirt, and were closed at the end, in such a way to restrain the wearer’s hands. Inconvenient, sure, but nothing he couldn’t handle with a bit of clever wiggling. He shrugged, slowly, rolling his shoulders to get one last good stretch in before confining himself, and then slid into the contraption. 

The material was rough, scratchy, and made his face twitch with discomfort. No matter, however, he could deal. He looked at Jet expectantly. 

Jet reached forward, and Nureyev half expected him to type some numbers into a keypad or even manually unlock it. Instead, he grabbed the handle on the outside and began to pull against it with a loud grunt. Nureyev could hear the pistons and locking mechanisms of the door screech in protest as it gave way inch by arduous inch until there was a gap just big enough for the slender thief to slip through. Jet rubbed his hands together, seemingly unphased. He had to take a moment to collect himself, to not make it known how…distracted that made him. Then he slipped through the gap. 

“Where are we headed? Have you solved the matter of the lighting yet?” 

“Not so fast, thief.” Jet reached into the deep inner pockets of his coat, revealing a heavy-duty set of silver chains. Nureyev swallowed slowly as he looked at them, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. 

He was faster than Jet, of that he was certain, but he was still feeling worse-for-wear and couldn’t discard the restraint shirt on the move. He couldn’t take Jet in a physical fight with his faculties in full effect, much less in this state that he found himself. Besides, with the electrical problems the ship seemed to be having at the moment, he couldn’t guarantee that the escape pod was in working order. It was troublesome, but it would seem he would have to go along with the chains. He put on a smile that (he hoped) wasn’t as weak as it felt. “Of course.” 

Jet reached around him, wrapping the chains around him with practiced, but surprisingly gentle hands. He connected the chains on his upper body to his ankles, taking away the option of running, which he had not factored into the equation. He shuffled softly as Jet pulled away, testing the range of his mobility. It was workable, if not comfortable, in the very least. Still, the idea of having his life in the hands of those he had just tried to rob blind set a very real sense of dread deep in his stomach. Jet started walking toward the door, leaving Peter no option but to follow. 

Traversing the ship that had been his home for the past year, it quickly became obvious that they were headed to the control room. It was a place that they usually were by necessity, whether for a ship meeting or when something needed repairs. Probably the latter, in this case, though with his presence it could be the first. Jet knocked on the door. It struck him as odd that it was closed, right before it opened with a pneumatic hiss. Light poured out from inside and Nureyev let out a sigh of relief. 

“Ransom, hurry up! You’re letting out all the air!” A voice from within called. Jet grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and pushed him in, before hurriedly closing the door behind them. 

The scene before him was bleak. It looked as if they had gathered all of the Carte Blanche’s resources into a single room, leaving it a cluttered and crowded mess. Rita was sitting in a fort of...were those books? Blankets were strewn about the room, as were piles of supplies required to support human life. As he entered, every eye in the room looked at him, each carrying varying degrees of sadness and distrust. Well, every eye but one. 

Juno was very purposefully not looking at him from the blanket-and-book fort that he and Rita were sharing. He tore his eyes away from the former detective and found Buddy’s steady gaze from where she was seated in the rotating control panel chair. The look in her eye was expectant. She was a careful jungle predator watching his behavior to determine whether he was prey or competition. 

“Hello captain. The situation seems a bit more dire than I had originally anticipated.” 

“You are correct, Pete,” her voice reminded him of Mag in that moment, and he couldn’t help the flinch that ran through him at the words, “we are, if you’ll pardon me, in deep shit.” 

That got everyone’s attention. 

“To put it simply: our engine is dead in the water. Without our engine, we have no propulsion, no electricity, and no life support. 

I believe we have hit a pocket of dead space.” She held up a palm at the protests that came spilling out of every crew member at the explanation, continuing once they were quieted. “Yes, typically reserved for wives’ tales and bitter old spacers alike, it would seem to be happening to us. For those of you that do not know, dead space is a pocket of space that, for some unknown reason, overloads and renders large electronic systems inert. 

We have a backup generator, and between the alcohol we currently have in our possession and the small amount of reserve fuel, if we keep our doors sealed and our electricity usage low, we have around 24 hours on the oxygen converter. While it is possible to drift out of a dead space zone, we do not know how long it will take, and thus therein lies our problem. We will have to get creative, or we will die.” 

Her eyes settled on him then, looking at him with a sharpness he had seen before, but never directed his way. It made him feel downright translucent, that half organic, half mechanical gaze. 

“Pete, I need you to know something. You have pissed off a good number of people in this room. If you try anything, and I mean anything, it will almost certainly be the last thing you do. 

We put it to a vote, whether or not we would waste the resources to go and retrieve you. The only reason you are standing here right now is that Juno saw fit to break the tie in your favor. He’s given you the benefit of the doubt, something you will have to earn amongst the others. In the meantime, I advise you sit somewhere comfortable, look pretty, and follow orders without question. As for the rest of you. We need to keep a cool head if we are to survive this. Anyone seen antagonizing Ransom will answer to me.” 

A chorus of affirmation rose up from around him, but the thief only had eyes for the detective. Juno had decided to save him? Why? 

Juno looked up at Buddy briefly, and then collapsed into a pile of blankets, pointedly facing away from everyone else. 

~

He spent the next several hours following Buddy’s advice, sitting in a corner, trying to find a way to lay in which the chains around his body did not dig into his flesh. He was widely unsuccessful for the most part, but he had slept in worse conditions. 

“Mistah uh...Ran…Mistah Thief?” He blinked out of his stupor to find Rita standing over him. In her outstretched hand was a black nutrient bar. His stomach protested at the idea of eating it. They were bland, thick bricks filled with all the calories and nutrients a human would require to stay alive. He had spent his entire childhood stealing the things.

“Thank you, Rita,” he mumbled, voice quiet if not sincere. Her face brightened at that, breaking out into a sunshiny smile entirely too bright for the situation they were in. She set the bar down on the ground next to him. 

“No problem Mistah Thief. You gotta keep your strength up! You just let little old Rita know if you need help eating that. I know it might be a little hard with your hands all tied up and what-not,” her smile lost a bit of its shine and her voice lowered in a way that Nureyev knew to be quiet for the former secretary, but still entirely too loud for the nearly silent room they found themselves in. “I didn’t want to tie you up, I said, ‘well can’t we just watch him?’ But everyone else is real nervous right now so they wanted to make sure you couldn’t do nothing tricksy.” 

It took him a moment to find his words at the kindness he was being offered. “It’s alright, Rita, I understand. And thank you, truly.” 

Rita smiled again at that, then trotted back over to her homemade book fort, pulling open a book that looked comically massive in her small hands. She looked odd, he mused, without the ever-present glow of a comms device in her face. He tilted his head to get a better look at the title.  _ ‘Operation and Maintenance of your Starhopper SN-1500’.  _ Ah. It would seem she had found a way to be useful, even outside her usual element. 

He glanced around the room to see what everyone else was busying themselves with. Buddy and Vespa were seated around the circular table in the center of the room. Buddy was pouring over some sort of schematic while Vespa was sleeping with her face on the table next to her. In her hand she clasped a wicked-looking knife, prepared to strike at any moment, presumably if Nureyev decided to mutiny. Jet and Juno were working on their backup generator, though he could see no obvious issues with how it was currently operating. Juno had taken his shirt off to work on the hot machine, leaving him clad in only his slacks and a black sports bra. Nureyev stared for a moment longer than appropriate considering the situation, then averted his eyes. 

“So why doesn’t the dead space or whatever kill this generator too?” Nureyev’s chest ached at the sound of Juno’s perfect voice, deep and raspy, for the first time in what felt like forever. He shook his head subtly, trying to purge the thought from his head. 

“We are quite lucky it did not. It is possible that it is simply too small. Or that it being powered by fossil fuels interferes with the signal somehow. My opinion is that…” 

Jet continued talking and Nureyev stopped listening. Jet’s theories were surely interesting, but hardly helpful toward his grand plan of subverting his (literal) chains and escaping the ship. He settled back for the next half hour while they continued to work, mentally cataloging every possible point of exit in the control room.

“Buddy. The generator is functioning at full capacity. I believe this has earned us an additional two hours of power.” 

“That’s excellent news. Great work, you two. Has anyone else come across anything useful?” 

Rita looked up from the massive tome and peered over her cat-eye glasses with a scrunched up nose. “Well I ain’t really sure if this could help or not, but there’s something in the engine room called an ADP generator, and apparently it can help us power the ship in a pinch? Or something. The manual’s bein’ real vague about it.” 

Nureyev’s eyes widened. “An ADP generator? Why, those haven’t been legal in centuries, much less standard.” Suddenly, every eye in the room was on him. 

“Go on, Pete.” 

He shuffled, grateful to know something of use but uncomfortable for once in his life with being the center of attention. “Well. Back in the early days of the Terran Empire, they often resorted to barbaric means to further their space exploration. They would bring along prisoners, usually ones set to be executed, and would, well…”

“Spit it out, thief.” 

“In as little words as possible, an ADP cuff allowed them to use people as a source of power in the case of catastrophic engine failure.” He looked up, searching the various expressions of horrified confusion. “It converts energy from a human body’s DNA and allows you to utilize it. Turning them into a sort of human battery, if you will. It’s utterly bizarre that the Carte Blanche would have one on board.” 

“Why do you know this?” his heart skipped several beats, hearing Juno speak. Which was something that would begin to be quite annoying if it continued. His mouth was dry as he replied with a small smile and a chuckle. 

“I pretended to be an Earthen historian for a heist, once. My speciality was introductory space travel of the 24th century and the establishment of Terran colonialism.” 

Juno made a small hum of acknowledgment at this. Buddy seemed more impressed. 

“So this device, if operational, could allow  _ us _ to power the ship?” 

“In theory, yes. But I must reiterate that it operates by quite literally sucking life out of the user. I haven’t the slightest idea how effective technology that ancient will be either.” 

Buddy thought it over for a minute, making her way to Rita’s side to inspect the book’s pages on the device. “We’re between a rock and a hard place,” she murmured to herself, quiet enough that Nureyev had to strain to pick it up. Then she stood and faced them all. “I say it’s worth the risk to keep the life support systems running. We’ll plan an expedition to the engine room at once.” 

Nureyev wasn’t allowed to go, unsurprisingly. 

Watching Juno and Jet pack up to retrieve it was agonizing. Not to say that this was anywhere close to the most dangerous thing either of them had done. They had planned accordingly, opening the vents to the path they would be taking and equipping them with comms that still had some power left. Even so, it was a harrowing concept as he watched the detective open the door with a hiss, without so much as a word or glance goodbye. 

After a trying 24 minutes and 32 seconds, Jet and Juno wheeled in the device, panting slightly but looking no worse for wear. 

It looked like your run-of-the-mill blood pressure cuff, a seat with wheels and a piece intended to wrap around one’s upper arm. Of course, it was also equipped with handcuffs, leg restraints, and a thick layer of gray dust. Buddy immediately hopped over to inspect it, wiping the screen hanging off the side clean and examining all the wires for any degree of wear and tear. 

“Rita, darling, you finished reading the section on this, correct? Can you help me to turn it on?” 

“Of course, Captain A! I was reading and it looks like it has a password function so that not anyone can use it willy-nilly, but if they reset it they also made it real easy to reset that password to default if you know what you’re doin’!” 

A few moments later, everyone in the room jumped minutely as the machine sprung to life, the arm cuff contracting to reveal a wicked set of needles. 

“Wait, wait, wait, so we’re supposed to sit in that thing? Willingly?” 

“I’m afraid we might not have a choice, Juno,” she murmured, shaking her head ever so slightly. “That said, we need someone to test it. I volunteer to be the first.” 

“Over my dead body!” 

“I’m afraid I must insist otherwise.” 

“Captain A I really don’t know how much of a good idea that is-”

“Buddy, we’re not strapping you into that thing.” 

“I’ll go.” They all seemed surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, staring at him with various degrees of mistrust and confusion. “Of course, you’ll have to let me out of these restraints for me to utilize the machine.” The risk was minimal compared to the reward of being free of his chains. After all, there was no reason for them to save him from the cell simply to let him die in the chair. 

Vespa bristled at the thought of letting him free. “In your dreams, thief. We’re not just going to sit by while you slit our throats.” 

“I’ll watch him.” 

Now all the attention was on Juno. Nureyev’s brows creased with confusion at his words. Juno had no reason to trust him, much less volunteer to be his babysitter. 

“Juno? Are you certain?” Buddy’s voice was even, staring at the former detective with that same intensity she had fixed on him earlier. Juno, to his credit, did not waver in the slightest. 

“Yeah. If he wants to stick out his neck like that, let him,” Juno’s voice was casual, cruel even. As if he didn’t care if the chair would leave him a beautiful corpse. 

Buddy thought that over for a minute and then nodded toward Jet. “Dear, will you release our thief, please?” 

Jet hesitated for a moment, thinking it over, then seemingly decided to trust her judgement, taking two giant strides to be at his side, pulling at the chains and unlocking the padlocks that had been attached. A few moments later, he was breathing a sigh of relief, making a show of stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders out. Allowing himself to look unbothered and free, right up until the moment that his shoulder protested the movement loudly. 

He hissed in a breath, trying to conceal the majority of his wince and failing miserably. “What’s wrong?” he heard from across the room, Juno’s eye locked exactly on the spot that hurt. Too observant for his own good. 

A quiet snort rang out from the other side of the room. “He’s fine, Steel. Probably hurt himself with the handcuff maneuver earlier.” 

He allowed himself a small chuckle, walking over to seat himself in the machine. “Vespa is correct. Merely a twinge, don’t worry. I’ve found myself in much worse scrapes while getting out of bindings,” he allowed himself a glance at the machine and adjusted his collar slightly, mildly uncomfortable with the idea of it going into his arm while simultaneously being no stranger to needles. “This, for example, comes to mind.” 

Apparently no one found his attempt at a joke funny, so he sighed and sat himself in the chair. He aligned his arm with the cuff, shoving any hint of nerves a lesser man might be feeling deep in his stomach. “Shall we begin?” 

While Rita and Buddy fiddled with the controls, Juno eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure about this?” 

“Oh, my, did I sound too eager?” The words came out of his mouth as easy as breathing, and he regretted them as Juno looked away again. Before he could think of a proverbial olive branch to extend, the machine sprang to life and he had larger worries to address. 

It hurt. 

A lot. 

Rita might have winced sympathetically at the facial expression he must have been making. He wasn’t certain. Everything seemed too far away at the moment, too blurred around the edges. The needles plunged deep into his arm, but that wasn’t close to the worst thing. He could feel his body slowly draining of energy, flowing as steady as a tap. It was worse than any high fatigue day, or being shocked halfway to death by some glorified history professor. Worse, even, than waking up alone in a hotel room. 

Vaguely, he heard Rita’s high voice on one of his sides, he couldn’t tell which. “Oh! I’m sorry Mistah Thief, I meant to give you some warning, but it just started right up when I put the password in!” 

He opened his mouth to respond, to say anything, really, but all he could manage was a distant gurgle. His mouth simply refused to cooperate, which was quite rude of it, wasn’t it? He attempted a laugh at the idea, but all the air in his body seemed to be trapped in his traitorous lungs. At the corners of his vision, spots began to appear as his body fought to remain conscious. How long had he been trapped here, feeding the machine? Had they forgotten about him? Of course not, they were sequestered together. Had they decided to forsake him, as he had done not hours before? 

“....killing him! …off!” 

“...tryin’- ...hold…hold on.” 

With his last bit of strength he flailed his head, looking for the one person in the universe that he needed to see before he died. He didn’t have to go far, Juno Steel was in his periphery, mouth moving but making no sound. His strong, scarred hands braced on Nureyev’s shoulders. How could one adequately convey how sorry they were without it seeming shallow? How he had spent weeks agonizing, going over every option he had until they spun around in his head like a hyperactive child on a merry-go-round? How his body had spent decades betraying him, and the lengths he had gone to in an attempt to repair it? Or the people that owned his soul, who traded lives like casinos swapped poker credits? 

How he despaired every time Juno spoke softly of their future together because he knew it was a life he would never get to see- much less deserve?

~

He awoke just as he had lost consciousness, blinking up at Juno’s face. Of course, it was just as likely that he was still dreaming (or dead) because he was fairly certain that his head was currently positioned in the lady’s lap. Juno (dream Juno?) glanced down at the motion and smiled softly before thinking better of it, his face defaulting into its usual scowl. He looked away, then, and it was all Nureyev could do not to cry from the loss. “Buddy, he’s awake.” 

The redheaded captain swam into his vision moments later, crouching down next to him with creased eyebrows. “How are you feeling, Pete?” 

“I’ve been better, captain.” His own voice surprised him, far rougher than he could ever remember it being. He briefly thought about sitting up. But if the angels had deigned that he should have just a moment in Juno Steel’s lap, who was he not to take full advantage? Juno’s eye crinkled with, well, he dared not to call it affection. But it did crinkle. 

“You should have told us, Pete. About your condition. We almost lost you.” 

Briefly his dazed mind summoned forth something like alarm bells. “I don’t...”

“You were talking,” Juno explained, “before you passed out.” 

“Not to mention, a healthy adult should be able to be on the generator for upwards of an hour. You were on it for five minutes.” Nureyev felt a twinge go through him at the pitiful amount he had been able to give. 

“But but but, we found out that it was in super sucker mode! We messed with the configurations so that ain’t gunna happen again, ok Mistah Thief? It’ll go much slower next time!” He turned his head to the side to see Rita dejectedly chewing on a protein block as she spewed the words to him. They did make him feel a little better, in the very least. 

“Don’t worry, you’re off rotation for a bit. No one’s going to make you go anywhere near the blood pressure cuff of death for the next few days.” Juno finished his statement by carding his fingers through Nureyev’s hair, and he honestly thought he might die on the spot at the sensation, his eyes rolling back to easy sleep. 

The next time he awoke, the room around him was pitch black and Juno’s lap had been traded for a pillow and a pile of blankets. He sat up, slowly, ignoring the protests of his joints and stomach. The air was quiet with sleep, soft breaths coming from each corner. That was, each corner but one. A small gasp permeated the room, followed by mechanical pulsing. Nureyev’s hair stood on end as he turned to face the ADP generator. 

“...Juno? Is that you?” It certainly wasn’t anyone else, of course, that wasn’t truly the question. The question was not “is that you” but “what the hell are you doing?” 

Juno blinked open his eye from the wince he had been in a moment prior, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his deep brown skin. He grunted an affirmation and Nureyev shuddered softly, ghostly pain from his use of the machine earlier rushing through him once more. 

He forced himself to his feet, legs shaking like a newborn horse’s as he made his way over to Juno. The former detective hissed at this, concern briefly overriding the pain and exhaustion plain on his face. “Nureyev! Go back to bed,” his voice hardly a whisper but still managing to keep its usual bite. 

“Juno, what are you doing?” 

“It’s my turn. Human battery duty, y’know, unless you don’t like breathing all of a sudden?” 

“In the middle of the night? With no one to monitor you in case of machine malfunction?” His tone was gentle but his gaze was not. He put a hand on his hip, hoping to convey exactly how much he doubted the detective’s story. It came off a little weak when his arm began to shake too, but he held firm to the pose regardless. 

Juno’s expression darkened, and Nureyev could feel the tenuous camaraderie they had begun to rebuild tense palpably. He held his gaze for a moment before sighing, softly. “Just...promise me you’ll be careful?” 

“Don’t worry Nureyev, I have no problem telling people when I’m in trouble.” A lie, but the unspoken “unlike some people” hung heavy in the air. Too tired to argue, Nureyev nodded slowly and made his way back toward his sleeping accommodations.

The next morning he awoke in the middle of the most pathetic “family breakfast” he had seen. They had been sorely in need of a grocery run right before the ship’s systems had failed. Someone had taken the last of their real food and combined it together. The idea of a powdered-egg, canned green bean, and canned peach scramble with a side of peanut cricket granola bars was about as far from the realm of appetizing as one could possibly be. Still, with the alternative being those tasteless ration bars…

He forced himself into a sitting position, then standing, walking the few agonizing steps to what used to be the family meeting table. He quickly sat down in the only available seat, sandwiched directly between Juno and Vespa. Neither spared him so much as a glance, though he did earn a quick grunt from Juno. 

Rita looked up with an uncharacteristically tired smile. “We saved you a plate, Mistah Thief.” 

“Thank you, Rita,” he murmured, taking a proffered fork to poke at the scramble in question. Yes, those were  _ definitely  _ canned peaches. “You know, Rita, if it’s all the same, you can still call me Ransom. You all must know by now it’s not my true name. But...I have gotten used to the moniker,” he paused for a moment, dragging a green bean out from the egg mixture before eating it delicately. “Of course, don’t feel obligated…” 

“Oh, really? Y’know, that’s a relief. I spend at least ten seconds trying to decide what to call you before I say anything so that’ll make it tons easier. Mistah Ransom it is.” He offered her a small smile, one that she returned tenfold. Next to him, Juno was also picking at his food. 

The meal continued on in relative silence, each face present at the table pinched and creased with exhaustion and nerves. Nureyev tried and then failed to keep his attention from wandering to Juno. He was still worried about him from the night prior, though he was attempting to use all his skills as a thief to keep that from showing. The more glances he stole, the more certain he was that Juno wasn’t eating. It was a maneuver that was intimately familiar to Nureyev, one that he had performed many times in his adult life. Juno was merely pushing the food on his plate back and forth, cutting it into pieces to make it look as though it were smaller. And it wasn’t absentminded, either. Every once in a while Juno would glance up at the table around him, as if trying to see if he had caught anyone’s attention. After five minutes or so of this game, Juno shifted into a stretch, paired with a comically staged yawn. “Hey Rita.” 

The former secretary’s glasses were askew as she craned her neck up at him. “Yeah, boss?” 

Juno looked as if he was about to jump into the “not your boss” conversation, but apparently decided against it, instead pushing his plate toward Rita. 

“I’m not feeling very hungry, you want the rest of my food?” 

That got Buddy’s attention. “Juno. We have to preserve our food. I can’t have you plucking at supplies later when you’re feeling peckish.” 

“Not to mention this is the last of our cooked food. It will be protein blocks from here on out.” Jet supplied helpfully. 

Juno rolled his eye with all the power of a petulant teenager. “I’ll last until next ration, Buddy.” 

“...well, if you’re certain.” 

“Are you sure, boss?” Rita asked, but she was already tucking into the plate. 

Silently, Nureyev vowed to keep an eye on Juno. 

Over the next several days, he noticed some disturbing behavior. 

He was still feeling ill from, as Juno had so eloquently put it, “the blood pressure cuff of death” the following day, and the day after that. On the third day, Buddy approached him. 

“Pete, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to start putting you on ADP rotation. I know you’re not feeling well, but I need everyone to continue pulling their own weight.” 

“I understand, captain.” 

He spent the next several hours dreading the idea of being hooked up to the horrible machine again, watching the seconds count down and knowing every approaching minute brought him closer to that awful, soul sucking sensation again. The apprehension increased further as Vespa finished her turn with a groan. He knew he was going to have to stand up and hook himself up to the device. He knew with the certainty of livestock facing the chopping block. He had to move. 

“Buddy, I’ll take Ransom’s rotation.” 

What? He shook his head in disbelief as Juno made his way to the chair, protests lodging directly in his throat. 

“Juno, I won’t have you putting yourself in harm’s way for Ransom’s sake.” She crossed her arms, voice stern and commandeering. 

“Just for a couple of days. It’s fine. I can pull double until he recovers.” 

Silence filled the room as everyone mulled over the decision that was being made before them. 

“It’s not going to kill me,” Juno continued as Nureyev’s desire to scream increased. How could he possibly know that? “I’ll stop if it gets to be too much.” 

Buddy’s lips pursed as she stared at Juno, looking for an answer on his face that she clearly didn’t like the sound of. Eventually, she sighed. “Alright. So long as you don’t push yourself too hard. And...Ransom agrees with this arrangement.” 

He wanted to shout. He wanted to protest, to march over to the horrible device and drag Juno out of it. To object to Juno’s ridiculous, self-sacrificing nature. He began to do so, taking in a deep breath and parting his lips. Then, his gaze fell on the chair, and he had nothing to say at all. 

He hung his head in shame. “Thank you, Juno.” 

The following night, he awoke to hear mechanical pulsing paired with quiet hisses. However, his eyes simply would not cooperate with him in staying open, and he soon found himself drifting through unconsciousness once more. 

Juno was passing off his food as often, (and as subtly, after one concerned comment from Buddy) as he could. He was looking gaunt, his usually healthy, glowing skin growing ashy and dull. His eyes were ringed with dark spots that were far more pronounced than usual, and it took him several seconds to respond to any mention of conversation that included him, typically opting to stare into the middle distance or nap when he wasn’t voluntarily hooked up to the life-draining torture machine. When he did speak, he was short and snippy, run down to the wire in a way that seemed far worse than anything anyone around him was experiencing. 

Nureyev was beyond worried. He was terrified of losing the lady to his own self destruction. 

Trapped in his bed by the weakness of his own body most days, he devoted much of his time to keeping tabs on Juno, caring less and less how obvious he was being about it. He was surprised that no one else seemed openly concerned yet, Juno wasn’t exactly being subtle with his offers to take extra punishment on the ADP generator or his seemingly never-ending benevolence when it came to skipping meals. He supposed it was a side effect of being a leech. Being the only person not actively giving their life force away provided him with the time and energy to worry about someone other than himself. 

His fears culminated into a reality when Juno passed out the next hour. 

Various shouts and noises of concern rang out from every direction as Juno’s body tumbled to the floor with a metallic clank. Nureyev was out of his bed before he could think, before he could even breathe, immediately at the lady’s side. Juno had landed face first, his nose already dripping blood onto the floor of the Carte Blanche. 

“Out of my way, Ransom!” Vespa shoved him, not unkindly, flipping Juno onto his back to inspect him for further damages. “Someone get me a towel.” 

Pushed to the side, a wave of self loathing washed over Nureyev. He had  _ known _ Juno was on an active warpath against himself and he had done nothing about it, content to profit from the former detective’s willingness to take his spot on the proverbial chopping block. How awful of a person could he be, so willing to watch the person he loved wither away into nothing? 

No more. He waited until the rest of the crew was asleep, then immediately headed for the ADP chair. He sat himself in it, taking care to make sure that his arm was not enveloped by the needling cuff, and waited. 

Juno roused after several hours, his beautiful face cracking into a yawn, then a wince when the bruise that had quickly formed around his nose protested at the movement. Nureyev watched him look around, cataloguing the sleeping faces before standing, stretching and heading for the chair. In his sleep-addled state, Juno didn’t notice Nureyev sitting in the chair until he was less than a foot away. His mouth curled into a smile as Juno’s eye widened comically, clutching a hand over his heart as if to settle it. 

“Hello, Juno.” 

“Nureyev! What the hell, you trying to scare a lady to death?” 

His smile fell as the words tumbled out of Juno’s mouth, and his face tightened with an almost displaced anger. “No, Juno, I’m not trying to bring you harm. In fact, if said lady would stop trying to get himself killed, I wouldn’t have to resort to such dramatics.” 

Juno’s beautiful face scrunched with indignant protest, answering without thinking, “I’m not-!” He cut off, realizing the volume he had taken on was far too loud for sleeping quarters, and scanning the room to make sure no one had woken before shaking his head. “Look, Nureyev, I’m not trying to do anything stupid.” 

“Oh we’re far past stupid, Juno. Stupid is making a joke without thinking about the people you’re with. Stupid is forgetting to take off your concealler before bed and waking up with more acne than you started. We’re several degrees past stupid, Juno. Only an idiot would behave the way you have during the past several weeks.” 

Juno bristled immediately at his words, but he continued breathlessly, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria without his consent. 

“I mean, would a smart person take double, no, triple shifts on the machine that operates by killing the user? Or giving away almost every single ounce of food they’re given to replenish that life that’s been taken? Hm?” 

“I…I don’t…” Juno’s expression was wide with surprise, either thinking over his own behavior from the past few weeks for the first time, or shocked that anyone had caught on to his antics. He wasn’t sure which he hated more. His fury rekindled, hands clenched into fists as he stood to face the lady head on. 

“Would a smart person skip sleeping to spend even more time on that machine, knowing full well no one would be awake to help you if anything were to happen? Honestly, Juno, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Nureyev blinked, then paused, surprised to find tears welling in the pit of his eyes. He took a moment to quickly and covertly wipe them away, giving the former detective enough breathing room to speak.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking, Nureyev. Hell.” 

“That much is clear,” the thief muttered, wiping his nose, trying to cover the sniff that accompanied his tears with the gentle brush of fabric. 

“Listen, I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I guess...” he trailed off for a moment, eyebrows drawn together in clear thought, “I didn’t even realize I was doing most of what you just said. I think…” he hesitated, looking up at the thief, asking for permission to continue with his gaze. Nureyev tilted his head, listening intently, wanting to understand what was going on in his ridiculous, brilliant mind. 

“When I was a kid, when things got rough? The uh, the thing that helped me most...I mean, it felt like the reason I was alive at all sometimes, it was taking care of my brother. At any cost. I didn’t realize…I’ve been trying to be better, Nureyev,” Juno’s eye slid shut, and he seemed to be holding back tears of his own. 

“Oh, Juno.” 

Without thinking, the thief surged forward, pulling the detective into his arms. Juno melted into them, no longer trying to hold back his tears, instead, shaking with the enormity of them, a broken dam with no choice left but to flood. Shakily, they knelt to the ground, where Nureyev had nothing left but to hold Juno, running hands through his hair and over his shoulders, until his shuddering sobs slowed to a stop. Tenderly, and without letting himself think or talk himself out of it, Nureyev leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Juno’s forehead. Juno sighed in response, melting against him, bone-tired exhaustion finally taking its toll. 

“I understand, Juno,” his voice barely a whisper, “it’s alright. It’s going to be alright now.” 

“I’m sorry, Nureyev.” 

“I know. I’m sorry too.” 

And he was. 

They sat there for a long time, murmuring softly to one another and just allowing themselves to exist in each other’s presence, making up for lost time with tender gestures and sweet silence. 

That is, until Juno’s stomach growled. 

Nureyev laughed softly. “Here. I’m going to go get you a protein block. We’ll explain to Buddy tomorrow, yes?” Juno replied with a sleepy nod, looking halfway to a dream as Nureyev pulled away to fetch him some food. 

“We’ll have to talk with Buddy about this, in private, if possible,” he whispered as he traversed the room, craning his neck over his shoulder to ensure Juno could hear him. “Just so that we can keep two sets of eyes on you, to make sure you’re not slipping into old habits again.” He retrieved a protein block and began sneaking his way back toward his lady, carefully placing his feet so not to step on any sleeping crew members. 

“Nureyev.” 

“And perhaps we can talk everyone into allowing you double rations, if only for a few days. Making up for lost time.” 

“Nureyev.”

“If not, you can have my share. I really am feeling a lot better, and I can go without if it helps you,” 

“Nureyev!” 

Alarmed, Juno looked at the lady, surprised to see him suddenly looking very aware, and  _ very  _ awake. “Juno, dear? What is it?” 

“Nureyev, do you hear that?” He paused for a moment, tilting his head, listening for whatever sound Juno was apparently picking up on. 

No. 

There was no possible way. 

“Is that…” he barely dared to let his voice go above a whisper, almost not daring to let himself hope that it could possibly be…

“The engine.” Juno finished, eye filling with tears and smile splitting his face in two. “Nureyev, that’s the engine.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading to the end! Huge shoutout to my roommate, who without her constant encouragement and steely beta reader eye, this fic would not exist. Also for his willingness to read a 9k fic twice in one day. 
> 
> You can find me on twitter @muttshr00m or tumblr at hornedgod.tumblr.com. Feel free to come and yell about Penumbra with me, I’d dig that. 
> 
> And I go bonkers in yonkers over kudos and comments, so feel free to leave those if you have the spoons! 
> 
> Thanks!


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